


Monsters and Heroes

by so_many_of_the_ships



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bucky is sad, Marvel - Freeform, Sad, natasha helps him, sorry - Freeform, tons of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 05:34:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4251282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/so_many_of_the_ships/pseuds/so_many_of_the_ships
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Barnes isn't in control over his body. The first time that he starts to regain control is the time that he loses everything.</p><p>Basically WinterWidow angst because I'm bad at summaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monsters and Heroes

"YOU-"

_There goes the nasal bone . . ._   


"ARE-"

_There goes the supraorbital foramen . . ._   


"MY-"

_There goes his glabella . . ._   


_"His?" No . . . This man, he was no more than words on a paper. He did not get a name. He is the mission. He_ is  _the mission. He was trained for this. Why was he starting to feel?_

"MISSION!"

"Then finish it . . . 'Cause I'm with you til the end of the line."

The super soldier stopped fighting. He stopped trying to get up. He simply sat there and stared at his best friend--his best friend who no longer knew him. Steve simply laid there and focused on breathing and maintaining eye contact with the dark figure above him. They stayed there in silence for a brief moment until the final crack of Barnes' left hand made its contact with Rogers' skull, sending him into a never returning sleep. There was no ice to preserve him this time. No doctor who could save him. He slowly slipped into darkness. 

The world lost her hero that day.

 . . .

Three months had gone by. James Buchanan Barnes had disappeared. He needed time alone. He realized that during his fight with Steve, at some point, Steve must have hit him very hard on the head, making his memories slowly come back. Each small memory broke him. He had two lives now. The one with his best friend, and the one where he terminated the best thing that he had ever known. Both were soiled for him now.

Memories came back day by day, but none of them made him feel better. They were either memories of him plotting and killing, or living a life with the man that he would never see again.

Bucky had spent the last few months traveling the world, continually trying to stay away from anyone that he might hurt.

Natasha Romanoff had been sent to go after him, and she had been following him all three months, every once in a while, making herself obvious, trying to push him further and further away from S.H.I.E.L.D. so that she could talk to him without interruptions. Every once in a while, because he was being careful, he would sense that she was following him, and he kept running until he was on a remote island off the east side of Australia.

He found himself in small inn at the back of the island. Sitting on the open balcony overlooking the market of the island and all its busyness. He sat there in an old rusted chair, gently swaying his foot which was crossed over his other leg. He twirled the knife between his fingers in his left hand. No one else would have heard the door open behind him, but he did. Just one more thing to chalk up to the training.

"You've been following me for a while. I have to admit, I thought that I lost you back in Cancun." He stood slowly, standing and turning to the inside of the small room that he was occupying. Turning, he saw a mass of red curls cascading over two frail shoulders, stretching out to two calloused hands. 

The redhead spoke up crisply and crossed the room over to him. "You were being very difficult."

It was the only thing that she said for a while. The Winter Soldier stayed put, gently slipping the knife into his back pocket, a gesture that she responded to only with a short nod, but they both knew what that meant. He was trusting her. She sat silently onto the bed, watching to see what his next move would be. He stood still.

"I knew you would come."

"Of course I would."

"You didn't have to."

"Of course I did."

He turned to look at her, his jaw clenching. A fire burned in his tired eyes. He quickly and angrily advanced on her, running across the space of the short room at her. She did not flinch. She did not move. Suddenly, the soldier dropped to the ground on his knees in front of her, burying his face in his hands. He did not cry. He made no sound. 

Silence.

She gently reached forward and rested her pale hand against the top of his dark mess of dirt and blood and strands that he called hair. He remained still beneath her touch for almost ten minutes. 

"It was my hands, Natalia. . . .My hands that broke him. I- He would still be here if I had died. It should be me."

She closed her eyes and stoked the top of his head gently, not saying anything. 

Slowly, silently, he began to fall apart. 

He went completely limp and fell to the ground at her feet, giving up everything, everything that he had held in for the past three months, he was surrendering to her. He clawed at the cheap carpet of the hotel with his flesh hand and beat it hard with his metal one.

"HE'S GONE!" he cried, "He's gone, and it's all my fault!" 

She looked down at him, slipping off the bed and onto the ground. Staying quiet, she grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him up into her lap despite his protests. He kept trying to push her away. "No! No..." He yelled, shaking his head frantically, covering his now tear stained face with his hair which sticks to his damp cheeks. "Kill me. Kill me now. I have to go.. Need to bring him back!" 

He thrashed in her arms and yelled at her over and over again to let him go, pleading with her to kill him, even though he knew that it would not bring him back. He realized that he would not let go, and he gave in completely. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, screaming for minutes at a time. He dug his fingers into her sides as he yelled and cried and screamed as loudly as he could. 

He raised his head and tilted it back, screaming at the ceiling, slowly giving way to a full blown gasp for air that melted into a sob. He unlocked his fingers from her side and covered his face with them once again, standing and walking out onto the balcony. Silently, she followed him. By the time she had gotten out, he had lost all traces of the past hour's events except for a faint puffiness under his eyes, a trick that they had both learned back in Russia. He stared out over the island which was now dark, without saying anything. 

She stood there, crossing her arms and watching him. 

After a few minutes of silence, James looked up at her. He tilted his head. "He was your friend." It was an obvious statement, not a question. Guilt came over him when he saw a flash of sadness in her eyes, realizing that she had lost Steve too, and it was his fault. "Natalia, I'm-"

"Don't," she interrupted him. "Don't do this to yourself, James."

Walking over to the railing on the balcony where he was standing, she leaned against it, looking up at him. He drew in a long breath, looking back out at the island. "There are an infinite number of monsters in the world. Monsters are made every day. There is nothing special about a monster. A monster is a monster. A monster doesn't feel. A monster doesn't have to be good at what he does. Some are better at being monsters than others, but all they really have to do is think only about themselves. Selfishness breeds monsters. Selfishness and greed. Heroes? That's a different story entirely. Heroes are special. They are born out of necessity. There are specifications to being a hero. Heroes must be selfless. Heroes must always put themselves on the line. They don't give up. They fight for what is right, even when it hurts. Steve always remembered me, and yet he continued to fight. The safety of the world came before the life of his best friend. I am not bitter towards him at all. He tried . . . He tried to not have to kill me. The monster wouldn't let him. The monster kept fighting. Monsters don't have morals. And this? This monster killed him."

She stayed quiet and waited for him to finish, placing her hand on his.

He continued, "I knew what I was doing, Natalia. I knew the whole time." He turned to look at her. "I almost stopped, but I didn't." His voice cracked and his breathing picked up pace as a tear threatened to mark the cement floor of the balcony.

He opened his mouth to say something, but closed his eyes instead. 

"I miss him."

His words pierced her to the heart and she silently wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "I know you do, and that's completely fine. Monsters don't feel. You said that yourself. And you just proved that you do." She led him inside. "Come on, let's get you washed up and to bed."

He walked with her and nodded slightly. "Thank you, Natalia."

  



End file.
